


Memories, Speakable and Unspeakable

by captain_janeway



Series: Voyager: Memories, Speakable and Unspeakable [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_janeway/pseuds/captain_janeway
Summary: Scenes from seven seasons of Voyager—some that we saw, and some that we didn't.Rated M for specific chapters.





	1. 01.01 Caretaker - "I prefer Captain."

**Author's Note:**

> I am one author in a long line of Kathryn/Chakotay shippers, and so many of these “deleted scenes” have already been done by many others. I have no illusions about the originality of many of these ideas; I only know that I am happy to play in this sandbox for a while.
> 
> I have the utmost respect for Kate Mulgrew, and for her insistence that Kathryn Janeway not be sexualized—that she wasn’t willing to have her sleep with Chakotay in the series. This was (and still is) important on so many levels. The joy of this, then, is that I get to write their relationship the way that I think it should be done, and with no regard for TV ratings. The delicious agony of watching all of the moments in the series where they could have begun and didn’t fuels much of what’s written here. The ground for this relationship in the series is so fertile that it’s difficult to refuse my own imaginings. 
> 
> Text in bold has been transcribed from the original aired episodes.

System status reports. Pre-launch approvals. A legion of meticulous Starfleet regulation checks. This was a job only taken on by Kathryn Janeway and a full pot of coffee. _The sooner we’re cleared, the sooner we launch, and the sooner we come back._ She settled into the ready room’s firm cushioned desk chair, and began her review of Lieutenant Carey’s readouts from Engineering.  
  
The comm went off.

The computer’s cool voice announced: “Personal call for Captain Janeway.”

“Put it through.”

“Kathryn?”

“Mark!” She nearly ran to the coffee table where she had left the view screen.

There he was, smiling, against the west wall of his office in the Questor Group. The afternoon sun, which she knew came off of the beach in Rio de Janeiro, spilled through the blinds behind him. “How’s Rio treating you?”

“As well as Questor will let it.” He smiled. “Try telling some of these philosophers that a little sunshine does a body good. They looked at me like I’d suggested we negotiate with the Maquis.”  
  
She laughed. “Surely they’ll let you have a little time away?”  
  
“I’m counting on it. A short walk from here, and I’ll be pushing my heels into the sand of Copacabana.” He sighed. “I wish you were here to do it with me.”  
  
“A few weeks and we can go together.” She rose, crossing to the desk. “Keep talking. I just need to get my coffee.”  
  
“I knew it couldn’t be far away.”  
  
She gave a wry smile. “If you were reading the stack of status reports that I am, then you would be drinking it right along with me.” She collected her coffee, and after a moment’s consideration another padd, from the desk before returning to the coffee table. **“And how’s Mollie?”**  
  
**“The doctor called.”**  
  
**“And!?”**  
  
**“And I was right.”**  
  
**“She's pregnant?! Oh, Mark. You've got to take her home with you.”**  
  
His expression changed to surprise, his brow furrowed. **“With me? I just got the rugs cleaned.”**  
  
**“She's with child!”** Kathryn gestured at the screen with the padd in her left hand, then with the coffee in her right. **“I can't leave her in a kennel while I’m—”**  
  
**“Is this another 'Love me, love my dog' demand?**  
  
**“Yes,”** she said, firm.  
  
He sighed, and laughed gently.  **“How could I ever refuse you?**  
  
She smiled. **“Thanks, honey,”** then placed one padd on the coffee table and picked up the next.  
  
**“So, when are you leaving?”**  
  
**“As soon as I approve these systems status reports,”** she replied, eyes on the padd in front of her.  
  
He nodded, a little resigned, though she couldn’t see him. **“All right. Then I won't bother you anymore.”** The edge on the grain of his voice had crept in again, the one that was always close to the surface whenever she was distracted. Too late, he tried to keep it from coming through.  
  
She looked up the moment she heard it, setting the padd and coffee down on the table and bending to kneel in front of the transmitter. The earnest blue eyes he knew so well were unchanged by the comm screen, and they were assessing him as intensely as they did in person.  
  
**“Hey. You never bother me, except the way I love to be bothered.”** The corners of her mouth tugged upward, as he had known they would, as they always did whenever she reassured him. **“Understand?”**  
  
He smiled, placated. **“I’ll remember that.”**  
  
**“See you in a few weeks.”** Then she gasped. **“Oh, Mark! Go by my house and pick up the doggie bed. She'll be more comfortable.”**  
  
**“I already did, an hour ago.”**  
  
Her smile was full this time as she rested her chin in her hand, then pressed a kiss to her fingers.  
  
The transmission ended.    
  
  
Kathryn rose and picked up the next padd, scanning the proposals for training some of the newer recruits in the astrometrics lab. She wasn’t halfway to the desk when the door signal buzzed.  
  
**“Come in.”**  
  
Ensign Kim and Tom Parris entered. Tom had a practiced carriage, his arms loose near his sides. _As anyone with Owen Parris for a father would have_ , she thought. Harry looked as though someone had starched him along with his uniform.  
  
**“Gentlemen, welcome aboard Voyager.”**  
  
Ensign Kim’s response was as unwrinkled as his lapels. **“Thank you, sir.”**  
  
Kathryn sighed internally, then came around the desk to stand in front of him. **“Mister Kim, at ease before you sprain something.”** He loosened his posture, but barely. Ignoring Parris’s half smile, she continued. **“Ensign, despite Starfleet protocol, I don't like being addressed as sir.”**  
  
It was a ritual that she did not love, but knew was necessary.  
  
Kim was taken aback. **“I’m sorry . . . ma’am.”**  
  
**“Ma'am is acceptable in a crunch, but I prefer Captain.”** She gave him an official, tight-lipped smile. **“We're getting ready to leave. Let me show you to the bridge.”**


	2. 01.01 Caretaker - The Angry Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chakotay meets Kathryn Janeway.
> 
> Harry and B'Elanna are missing, and Janeway beams the Maquis aboard Voyager to combine their efforts to find them.

**“Captain, the Maquis ship is powering up its engines!”**  
  
**“Tractor them,”** she responded, before changing the comm signal. **“All senior officers, report to the Bridge immediately!”** _I am not about to let them get away like this._    
  
**“Paris to Janeway.”** Tom’s voice came through the comm.  
  
**“Go ahead.”  
**  
**“Kim didn't come back with us. He must still be over there.”**  
  
**“Acknowledged. Computer, how many crewmen are unaccounted for?”**  
  
The computer’s cool voice responded, **“One. Ensign Harry Kim.”**  
  
Kathryn addressed the bridge at large. **“Hail the Maquis.”** The viewscreen buzzed, and the image appeared.  
  
There he was. The man Starfleet had sent to her to bring to justice. And there was Tuvok, in the co-pilot’s seat, unwavering in his duty to remain undercover. _As she had known he would be_. Chakotay’s face was turned from the screen at first, enough for her to see the salt and pepper of his hair, the muted browns of his shirt, and the dark stain of his leather vest against his tanned skin. He turned when the hail activated the view screen. A dark blue tattoo covered his left temple and reached onto his forehead, skimming his eyebrow. It only made his focused gaze more intense.  
  
**“Commander Chakotay. My name is Captain Kathryn Janeway.”**  
  
His brow furrowed, and his voice was suspicious. **“How do you know my name?”**  
  
**“We were on a mission to find you when we were brought here by the array,”** Kathryn explained. **“One of our crewman is missing. Was he transported back to your ship by accident?”**  
  
**“No,”** he answered immediately. **“A member of our crew is missing too. B'Elanna Torres, my engineer.”**  
  
Kathryn’s own forehead contracted in turn. She heard Mark’s voice, from what seemed like years ago, like an echo. _“Try telling some of these philosophers that a little sunshine does a body good. They looked at me like I’d suggested we negotiate with the Maquis.”_   Which she knew was what she was about to do. **“Commander, you and I have the same problem. I think it makes sense to try and solve it together, don't you?”**  
  
Chakotay looked away, considering, then over at Tuvok, who gave his characteristic stoic nod. That seemed to increase his resolve, though it did nothing to reduce the suspicion on his face. **“Three of us will transport to your ship.”** Abruptly, the transmission ended.  
  
At the security station, Rollins reported, “ **They're powering down their engines, dropping their shields.”**  
  
The turbo lift opened, and she turned to see Tom Paris reporting to the bridge. Three transporter beams glowed blue. As the Maquis materialized, Rollins drew his own phaser.  
  
**“Watch out, Captain. They're armed.”**  
  
She didn’t flinch, but turned to Rollins, her hand raised. **“Put down your weapons.”** Rollins looked surprised, but obeyed.  
  
She turned to the newly-arrived Maquis. **“You won't need those here.”** Without waiting for them to lower their own weapons, she turned to Tuvok and stepped toward them, her pace steady. **“It's good to have you back, Mister Tuvok."**  
  
Without missing beat, Tuvok turned to Chakotay. **“I must inform you that I was assigned to infiltrate your crew, sir. I am Captain Janeway's Chief of Security.”**  
  
*     *     *     *     *  
  
Comprehension dawned on Chakotay’s face. He felt his own blood cool in his veins. _Treachery. Spirits, anything but a traitor._ He managed to keep his face impassive. How, he wasn’t sure.  
  
**“Were you going to deliver us into their waiting hands, _vulcan_?”** He could have spit the last word with less venom. A traitor, and not only a traitor to the cause, but one who might succeed in locking him up. Far from battle, from the thrill of outrunning yet another Federation ship, from his simmering anger as he pored over his next strategy, from his boiling bloodlust when he managed to send a few more Cardassians straight to hell . . . from the fleeting moments that almost felt like joy that disappeared like smoke in his grasping fingers. Locked in the brig, with only his own rage for company. His own guilt.  
  
Hate, mingled with frustration, coiled in his gut.  
  
**“My mission was to accumulate information on Maquis activities, and then deliver you into their waiting hands. That is correct.”** The vulcan looked placid. Contained. His voice as even as always. Chakotay knew how controlled Tuvok was—it was what had helped him effectively infiltrate his crew—but was still surprised to see no triumph in the other’s eyes.  
  
Over the Vulcan’s shoulder, he saw a familiar face, one that turned his anger into ice. **“I see you had help.”  
**  
**“It's good to see you too, Chakotay.”** Paris’s overconfident drawl floated ahead of him as he came to stand beside Tuvok and the Captain.  
  
**“At least the Vulcan was doing his duty as a Starfleet officer. But you!? You betrayed us for what? Freedom from prison? Latinum? What was your price this time?”**  
  
*     *     *     *     *  
  
The two men had each taken half a step toward each other. Kathryn knew enough immediately to tell that both were spoiling for a fight. She stepped into the Maquis captain, shoulder-checking him in the sternum, glaring, her jaw set, her lips centimeters from his face.  
  
**“You are speaking to a member of my crew.”** Her voice was sulfurous. **“I expect you to treat him with the same respect as you would have me treat a member of yours.”**   Chakotay broke his gaze on Paris and looked down at her. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, meet her eyes, but his shoulders relaxed and he turned away. Paris stepped back. **“Now, we have a lot to accomplish,”** she said louder, looking at each of the men in turn, **“and I suggest we all concentrate on finding our people and getting ourselves _back home_.”  
**  
**“Based on my initial reconnaissance, Captain, I am convinced we are dealing with a single entity in the array,"** said Tuvok. **"I would suggest he scanned our computers in order to select a comfortable holographic environment. In effect, a waiting room to pacify us prior to biometric assessment.** "  
  
Paris sounded confused. **"An examination?"  
**  
**"It is the most logical explanation,"** Tuvok replied. **"Why else would he have released us unharmed?"**  
  
**"Not all of us were."** Paris indicated the scratch on his hand.  
  
Kathryn ignored his quip. **"Break out the compression phaser rifles. Meet us in Transporter Room two. We're going back. We'll divide into teams. Mister Tuvok, while Chakotay and I are looking for Torres and Kim, your job is to find out as much about this array as you can. It brought us here. We have to assume it can send us home. Agreed?"**  
  
Chakotay locked eyes with her and nodded curtly.  
  
**"Mister Rollins, maintain Red alert. Keep us on constant transporter locks."** She turned and strode toward the turbolift.  
  
*     *     *     *     *  
  
_Captain she certainly was_ , he thought, _though not who I had expected to encounter_. From her carriage, he had assumed that she was prepared to throw the book at him—or at anything else—before deviating one iota from Starfleet protocol. From her name, he could see her standing on the bridge like she had the whole of the admiralty behind her, and knew it. Yet in the moment, quicker than thinking, before he and Paris could come to blows, before they were even within striking distance, he had felt her shoulder in his chest. Unyielding. Immovable. Her instincts were faster than the book, and he could tell that she wasn’t afraid to follow them. He guessed, if push came to shove, that she would abandon the rulebook too.  
  
She had put them together to look for her missing Ensign and B’Elanna. _To keep an eye on him, surely._ He knew too well how the Federation regarded the Maquis: as terrorists. In her eyes he was a terrorist. Not a lawless man—worse. A man who only kept to his own code. One who had rejected the law and order she upheld, who now sought to bring it to its knees. _And yet . . ._  
  
He found himself wishing that he could explain himself to her. That he was not, as he was sure he had been painted in the dossier she had read, a mindless peon fighting for a cause he knew little about. That his Starfleet record couldn’t even begin to explain the choices he had made. That he was _not_ a terrorist. That he wanted desperately to live as a peaceful man, but that he could have chosen no differently when Cardassian raids threatened the people he loved. That fighting to keep his people free was the only thing that could keep his anger and guilt from consuming him completely. That the closest thing he could imagine to _peace_ was knowing that somewhere, someone else would sleep safely because he was on guard. That it was as close to true peace as he felt he deserved.  
  
Given the position she was in, he thought she might understand.  
  
He shook himself. She was a Starfleet captain, and fully capable of having him killed at a word. The fact that they were in the Delta quadrant far from help made little difference. If anything, it made it easier. There would be no one to hold her accountable, no one to punish her if she decided that torturing him for information was acceptable, no one to call her off if she decided to blame him for getting them into this mess. He suspected that not even Tuvok would try to stop her. Yet, when she had stepped between him and Paris, when he had felt the uncompromising steel of her shoulder pressing into his chest and seen the fire behind her formidable stare, he had been put off balance. She was not the stamped-out, standard-issue Starfleet captain he had expected.  
  
He followed her into the turbolift. _Who have they sent after us?_


End file.
